


PROJECT: D.A.Y.C.A.R.E.

by nine_day_queen



Series: Earth-199998 [1]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Young Avengers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, It's basically any and all universes smashed artlessly together.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-01
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-02-17 23:11:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2326568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nine_day_queen/pseuds/nine_day_queen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Take it from Amadeus Cho. Don't trust spy agencies that throw their logo, their secret agency logo, on everything they own. If they're owning up to their things, chances are, what they're not owning up to is worse.<br/>Track down kids, legally kidnap, and stuff them in 'programs' worse.<br/>Or well, take it from a kid who hasn't seen his family in a year, because an agency with no sense of self preservation tried to recruit him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The INDEX is Live

**Author's Note:**

> I was planning a very short thing where I'd try to fit in the Young Avengers into the MCU but then I tried fitting in the entire Avengers roster, or at least the ones I'm more familiar with, which meant fitting in the whole Kree Captains Marvel (thanks to GotG for that particular one), and then the Spider-Man thing was a mess and the Pym/Van Dyne/Lang dynamic is going to be so unlike the upcoming movie and a whole bunch of other things I don't want to think about, like the Fantastic Four came into the story at some point.  
> tl;dr ... I tried to involve a lot more than a group of teenage supers into the MCU and my sanity is the worse for it.

Name: Amadeus Cho  
Birthday: 09/10/96  
Citizenship: American  
Family: CLASSIFIED  
Location: S.H.I.E.L.D. H.Q.  
Status: Agent  
Clearance Level: 2  
Sector: CLASSIFIED  
Abilities: Superior Intelligence

 

He had been 13, just a kid. An above average kid who entered a company sponsored contest and went home. He was a kid with a family, with a future. He was supposed to have a normal life.

There’s no such thing as a normal life.

 

~~~ 

 

"Cho?" he can still hear, still ... he blinks, pulling away from his memories, to the voice.

"Black Widow!" he grins. "Did you show up for our date?"

"Hardly," she says with a roll of her eyes. "I have brought you guests. You remember Deputy Director Hill?"

"The lady with the gun and no qualms about using it," he quips. She gives him a small smile. "How could I forget?"

“This is Agent Coulson.”

“Hi,” he says, his eyes turning back to his array of screens. “What can I do for you?”

“I wasn’t aware S.H.I.E.L.D. allowed pets onboard the helicarrier,” the man states.

Amadeus turns, a slight smirk on his lips. “They make allowances for geniuses.”

“Not that much,” Deputy Director Hill states. “Agent Cho, Agent Coulson will need to see your work on the Index. We were told it would be ready today.”

“I got most of the code mishaps fixed and we'll be fully operational within ten hours. It's scanning as of two minutes ago. You know, this would have been much easier if I could have talked to Mr. Stark.”

“He’s currently unavailable for a consult at this time,” Hill states swiftly. “But we’ll pass the message along. You have ten hours, Cho.”

“Gotcha, miss,” he salutes lazily. “I’ll be here, coding for the end of the world.”

He waits until they leave, to hack into the systems, to search for this Stark guy. In retrospect, he wishes he’d just left things alone. He reads through the reports of his kidnapping, most of them from the U.S. government and from S.H.I.E.L.D., even a few from the C.I.A. It seemed everyone in the alphabet soup wanted him back, but no one wanted to risk getting him back. But he was stateside, had been for a while.

“You shouldn’t look into what you aren’t supposed to,” Natasha hums. “It is bad.”

He jumps. “I …”

“They think, with people like Obadiah Stane, we need people more equipped to handle it. We almost lost an entire team that night.”

“I …”

“That Index,” she says, nodding up to the screens, line of code, both broken and half-finished. “That is what the World Security Counsel thinks will be our salvation. They think it will solve our problems by finding both the allies and the enemies before they do harm.”

“Allies wouldn’t do …”

“Dr. Banner was associated with the government, before his … accident. He is no longer considered a ‘friendly’, Amadeus. Remember, things can and will change quickly. You need to be always ready to adapt.”

He nods, knowing little of her, but enough to know she preferred Russian on dark days. He doesn’t even question the entomology of her name. “I know.”

“Remember it,” she presses, standing. “We’ll need that Index.”

“I know.”

“Have you been sleeping?” Agent Romanoff asks, leaning on his desk.

“I'm fine,” he stammers, looking away.

“The doctors can give you something, for the dreams,” she says, not unkindly, very much like the woman who came to his house one year ago.

“No, it's fine,” he repeats, trying to keep his emotions off his face.

“We've discussed bringing your parents into S.H.I.E.L.D. but not many people approve of civilians living here. S.H.I.E.L.D. is not equipped for this kind of thing.”

“I know,” he says dully.

“We will make the best of it, will we not?”

“Sure,” he shrugs off.

 

~~~

 

Natasha doesn't come back later, only the deputy director and the other agent, the bland man. They look disinterested, it's nighttime, and Amadeus wants Natasha, taking comfort in her stark tone and surprisingly truthful expressions. But he keeps that to himself. It’s bad enough they treat him like a child, he won’t give them ammunition.

“Well?” Hill asks, head tilted slightly, favoring her left side. She'd been in a fight, earlier, apparently.

“It's going to take a few minutes to break the code, it's an infinity one created by Stark, but I can do the calculations and it's going to take ten minutes to decipher.”

“You'll need food,” Hill nods, waving Agent Bland out, probably to get him food.

“What are you going to do with it?”

“We'll find them and see what we can do to help them. Your family was lucky; others may not be, without this knowledge.”

He nods, accepting the lie. He doesn't trust them, but they're the ones apparently keeping his family alive, his annoying little sister, his cheery mother, his stoic father who had a soft spot for them all. He nods and focuses on the algorithm.

The bland agent doesn’t return with food, Natasha does. It does a lot to his nerves, even if she merely sets the food and leaves, muttering something about a mission briefing.

“Agent 19, Barbara Morse,” he states, reading the list, a tangled mess of symbols, a coded language. “She left Georgia Tech freshman year to join S.H.I.E.L.D.’s academy. How did she swing that? Isn’t that place, like, super nerdy?”

“Says the genius," Hill remarks.

Amadeus blushes. “That’s not … you guys are super into the whole ‘past puberty and have to hold two Ph.D.’s’ thing. She got recruited before even one doctorate. That’s not fair.”

“Being handpicked by Fury gets you past a lot in the Academy,” Hill states. “She graduated top of her class. Next,” she prompts.

“Agent 13, Sharon Carter, but that’s a given, since she’s … moving on. We have Air Force Second Lieutenant Carol Danvers, as well as Dr. Walter Lawson. Dr. ‘Bruce’ Banner, Mr. Tony Stark, S.T.R.I.K.E. team Delta’s members,” he says, frowning.

“Agents Barton and Romanov will be informed,” Coulson states, lips pursed. “Is that all?”

“It says … nah,” he says, laughing uneasily. “There’s a glitch in the system.”

“Go ahead,” Hill allows, curious. “Who is it?”

“Captain Steve Rogers,” Amadeus states. The whole room freezes.

“You asked for live people, over the age of 18, didn’t you?” Amadeus nods. “What went wrong?’

“Fury, it’s Coulson. Agent Cho has tentative reasons to believe Captain Rogers is alive.”

“I … I can double check.” Deputy Director Hill nods.

“And lower the range, afterwards,” she commands. “When you’ve finished with this mess, lower it to 16, and if no one else pops up, go down to 13.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he salutes, and she gives him a small smile.

“This comes with coordinates, doesn’t it?” Coulson asks, looking the most frantic he’d ever seen the man, given he’d only met him this morning.

“Yeah, but it’s …”

“Give me a ballpark, Cho. I can take it from there.”

“Oh … okay,” he stammers, printing off the part of the code, translating it and handing it over. “Here.”

Coulson leaves with a wave of his hand and Cho is alone, again.

 

~~~

 

“S.H.I.E.L.D. is not equipped to handle supers anywhere,” Hill informs him, the next day, bringing in his food. “This is merely a precaution.”

“So you’re not building a base in Camp Hammond?”

“That’s a training facility for ‘The Avengers’, should they want it.” She pauses. “We’re naming this whole thing the Avengers Initiative, because she’s bankrolling the startup process for it. Dr. Van Dyne’s idea,” she continues. “She thinks they need to sound like they’re fighting for the greater good.”

“Janet Van Dyne, married to Henry Pym?”

“Yes,” she says, cautiously. “Why?”

“Their names came up in the list, with their daughter, Hope Van Dyne, after you left. I read one of his papers before this … whole thing. It was … it was a bit farfetched, with the suit.”

“When Janet Van Dyne puts her mind to it,” she snorts. “She helped him find a way around the science of it. We have their entire lab’s equipment, along with every paper they had in their possession, if you’d like to take it for a spin.”

“Really?” he grins. “Can I?”

“You’ve earned it, according to Romanoff.”

“This is so cool! Does it let you fly, like he said?”

“She called in a favor with Stark, helped them make some wings. They’re more of a jetpack with wings. Dr. Van Dyne let us have the patent, which we gave away to the Air Force in exchange for a favor. They’re using them for their EXO-7 project.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Romanoff says you’d look it up anyway. People monitor your actions, no matter how well you hide it.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she shrugs off, biting into a bagel. “Eat. We’ll go see the suit later.”

“I won’t …”

“Don’t lie to me either. Look,” she sighs. “You’re smart. Keep it up. I don’t trust this agency as far as I can throw it, and I can throw far. I didn’t get to my position without … the point is,” she says stiffly, “keep your eyes open, always. Blindly following orders gets you killed. Being suspicious saves your skin. Got it?”

He nods. “Yeah, I got it.”

“Good.”

“Why did Dr. Banner, Dr. Storm, and the Drs. Parker try to reverse engineer a sample of the super soldier serum?”

She doesn’t even blink. “We wanted to find out more about it.”

“There is no sample.”

“Apparently, there was enough DNA in one of Captain Roger’s belongings. I don’t know the specifics.”

“Susan Storm, Johnathan Storm, Peter Parker,” he recites. “Their names showed up.”

“We’ll ask them in for questioning, find out why they’re in your list, and let them go, with an undercover team to monitor them. We’re not trying to get them hurt, Amadeus.”

“I know,” he nods. “Natasha told me.”

“She’s right.”

 

 ~~~

 

“How’s your little team of supers?” Cho asks, twirling around. Coulson glares. “I see.”

“It’s not a team, it’s a program. Parker is giving me headaches. Are you sure he’s on the list?”

“There are others, younger kids. High school kids,” Amadeus says, eyes bright. "Can you even handle teenaged supers? Can I see you try? Do you want me to give you their names so you can scare them into not being supers? I can give you their names," he grins, reaching over to one of the computer print outs.

“No thank you,” he scowls. “Did any other names fall off?”

Amadeus looks to the binder of pages, flipping through the list. “Uh … Jessica Jones, Carol Danvers, Walter Lawson, and Lucas Cage are all gone. Also … Elijah Bradley, the Storm siblings, along with Reed Richards, yet another child genius,” he comments. “I don’t think Johnathan was a threat at all, since he was … he’s 14 or something. I can’t … insomnia’s getting to me.”

“Get some sleep,” Coulson states, turning. “And hopefully we’ll be over with this sooner than you think.”

 

~~~

 

“Why are you guys so obsessed with the super soldier serum?”

Natasha blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Mary Parker, Richard Parker, Henry Pym, Wilma Calvin, Bruce Banner, Janet Van Dyne, Franklin Storm, Theodore Sallis, and even Agent 19, they’re all involved in various projects trying to recreate the serum.”

She tilts her head, watching him, a small frown on her lips. “Are you jealous?”

“Uh, yeah,” he scoffs. “I’m the smartest kid you’ve found. I fooled you guys long enough that you thought my father was actually me. It’s hilarious. And you guys are … and I don’t get a crack at it? Didn’t I help you with the Pym suit?”

“And it was a good job,” she nods. “I have to go on a mission. Barton will be around, so you can train those hands to use a gun.”

“Thought you said I was too young.”

“We must all grow up. Better to be prepared for the future than to be surprised.”

He watches her, confused. They’d been drilling this sort of boy scouts crap into him since day one, but it seemed … more urgent nowadays.

“The younger kids are falling off the list,” he guesses, calls out. Natasha pauses. “Is that it?”

“Keep yourself safe,” she says, the door closing.

He looks to Kirby. “That’s probably it.”


	2. Informed Consent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jess Jones is totally normal. Her job ... not so much.
> 
> Eli Bradley just wants to go home. He's not even at fault here and he knows his rights. Lat he checked, kidnapping is illegal and he deserves a lawyer.

Name: Jessica Jones  
Birthday: 08/17/89  
Citizenship: American  
Family: NONE  
Location: S.H.I.E.L.D. H.Q.  
Status: Agent  
Clearance Level: 7  
Sector: CLASSIFIED  
Abilities: CLASSIFIED, Low Level

 

In Jess' defense, she hadn't wanted this particular job. Don’t get her wrong, she was all about trying to stop the injustices of the world. It’s just … she was perfectly content trying to think of a way to help people—normal people—with normal people problems. She would grow up and become a detective. That’s what Jess would do. Then, as if hearing her prayers, someone decided to send S.H.I.E.L.D. to her.  


With S.H.I.E.L.D., she had no choice but to join. They came into the picture, stealing her from the campus of the New York Police Academy, seconds away from joining, and seconds away from her dreams. They took her and they installed her into some former agent's job, training her as she went along. They had said it was a preemptive thing, keeping her hidden away. Jess wasn't so sure about that. Shady agency with a long name, probably designed to confuse people, meant they were liars. And they were kidnappers, since they took her.  


Still, she learned things, quickly, and eventually, she was cleared for the real explanation. She didn't like it. She liked it less when she found out about the other two 'protective custody’ agents: Agent Cage and Danvers. She liked Danvers, if only because the woman was taken from her own life just as swiftly. Carol had wanted to be a pilot, to help the world. Cage, however ... Cage's file was empty, either deliberately or not. She didn't even know his first name.  


But then the boy Eli was brought in, under the 'Project A. Initiative, subsection D.A.Y.C.A.R.E.’ and she grew suspicious; of that section, of that label. The Initiative label had been on all three, four including the boy's, of their files, along with a mix of agents, former consultants, and a few civilians. When the daughter of Scott Lang (God rest his soul) arrives, the feeling grows triple fold. The gnawing suspicion she had when monitoring him, and by default his daughter, it comes back with a vengeance. It’s justified when she sees Coulson, that odd one, is assigned as the agent in charge of little Cassie Lang’s retrieval. She hacks into the databases, digs deep into the archives, and tries to find out why they're all related. All she finds is a few words about potential and the words 'The Index' in bold on the fourth line of the third page in each of their assessments.  
Jessica Jones only wanted to help, not imprison kids.

This was not the plan.

 

 

“Okay, so this is the plan,” Carol calls out, as she pins her hair up. Jess watches her as she does it, almost religiously, tucking it under the cap she was given, a bright red and blue one, with an odd star pinned to the side, her personal tracker. “Or so you say: we break them, and by association ... us, out.” She waits for Jess to nod. “And you’re serious, aren’t you?”  
Jess sighs, shrugs, and ties her hair into a bun, stuffing it under a cap. “It feels weird. Tell me it doesn’t feel weird.”  
“They're just taking them into protective custody. It's not like they're putting them in jail. It’s like camp, Jess. Military camp,” she adds. "Boot camp," she amends.  
“Well, I still think kidnapping’s wrong, camp or no,” Jess argues. “Come on, most of these kids, they’re barely in high school. This ‘D.A.Y.C.A.R.E.’, it’s not going to be a program, it’s going to be a literal daycare center. They’re not even legally allowed to drive, or fight, even if they were drafted.”  
“Drafting was only during the war.”  
“Exactly!” she nods fervently. “We’re not in war.”  
“Aren’t we?” she asks, as she zips up her jacket. “We’ve been contaminated with unknown agents. For all we know, we’re ticking bombs.” Jess wilts, hands checking the experimental flight boots one last time. “Come on, we’ve only got an hour of freedom and I want to fly.”  
Jess smiles thinly, standing. “If I fall straight down to the sea, I’m blaming you.”  
“Well, at least it’s a nice, brisk March day,” Carol grins, throwing her a black parachute. “Don’t be such a worrywart, Jones. We’re not going to fall.”  
Jess wraps her fingers around the dark pouch, thick and cumbersome, similar to a life jacket, similar to … no. She nods, slowly, and takes a step towards Carol, towards the loading bay. “No, we’re going to fly.”  
Carol grins.

 

 

“Heads up,” Carol shouts, her red boots barely missing her and instead she lands on the L.M.D. training robot on the ground, shattered. “We've got a mission.” Jess blinks. “What?”  
“You’re the agent in charge. We’ve got to pick up some other guy, Cain or something.”  
She stares at the blonde in disbelief. “You’re serious?”  
Carol grins widely. “I’m driving.”

Jess walks up to the only man that looks out of place in the hangar: the giant behemoth standing on the bench. He doesn't glance up or anything, not even when she stops inches from him. She admires that, somehow. “So … Cage?”  
Agent Cage finally looks up, his tablet blacking out before she can read anything from it. “Agent Jones, right?” he says, tilting his head to look at Carol. “Is that our pilot?”  
“She’s safer than she looks,” Jess smiles, as Carol uses the flight boots to check the quinjet’s outer systems. “I promise.”  
“Are we briefing on the plane?”  
“I think so,” she says, frowning. “I don’t …” She grips her I.D. card, hard, the edges digging into her palm. “You’re Agent Cage.”  
He nods, once. “Yeah,” he snorts. “You already said that.”  
“No,” she says, shaking her head. “You’re in Project INDEX.”  
He blinks, seemingly surprised, before his face blanks, again. “If you say so,” he says smoothly, reaching over to grab his duffel. “It seems Danvers is cleared for takeoff.”  
“Come on, we’re losing daylight!” she says, waving from a safe distance, shedding her boots.

“April 19th, 2011,” she says into the tiny microphone. “Agents Cage, Danvers, and myself, Agent Jones, are investigating a possible P.O.I. in a hospital located in the Harlem borough of New York City, New York.”  
“I don’t think I’m supposed to be involved in your report,” Carol calls out, as she flicks a switch and unbuckles her seat belt. “Or I might be.”  
“You’re on it because your military expertise will be needed, apparently,” Jones frowns, looking at her tablet. Carol reaches for her bag, joining them. “And … and Cage is here as a security precaution?”  
“He’s a Person of the Index, so he’s clearly classified as dangerous,” Carol recites, peering over to her screen. “What’s wrong about needing backup?”  
“The subject is 14 years old.”

 

~*~*~*~ 

 

Name: Elijah Bradley  
Birthday: 01/14/97  
Citizenship: American  
Family: Isaiah Bradley (grandfather); Faith Bradley (grandmother); Sarah Gail Bradley (mother); John Bradley (father); Josiah al hajj Saddiq (uncle); Stephanie Bradley (sister); Litigious Bradley (brother); Amanda Bradley (sister), Hailey Bradley (sister)  
Location: S.H.I.E.L.D. H.Q.  
Status: Agent  
Clearance Level: 7  
Sector: CLASSIFIED  
Abilities: CLASSIFIED, Low Level

Eli feels like shit.  
Clearly, whatever truck tried to kill him, didn't.  


Warily, he makes an effort to open his eyes. The stark, white, sanitized room is the first thing Eli sees, which worries him. He tries to move his head, looking around for his grandmother. If he's in the hospital, chances are she's three, waiting to tear him a new one. Two people in suits sit on the chair beside his bed. They’re strangers, Eli realizes a little too late, as the drugs fill his system and he loses consciousness, again.

 

S.H.I.E.L.D.'s official term for this entire ordeal is ‘protective custody.’ That's what they call locking him away. He wasn't even the guy who started the fight, he tells them. It takes him a few to realize that's not why he's be locked away. Needless to say, Eli is less than happy about that, official terms or not. One minute he's receiving a blood transfusion from his grandfather, falling asleep from the entire day's events (those gangbangers really did know how to fight) and the next, he has two very odd (and technological) looking handcuffs, which are keeping him tied to the hospital bed, which isn't the same he fell asleep in, he can tell. Then an agent, with a bland face that shows nothing, explains to him what is going on. All they do, when he tries to get the damned restraints off, is feed him morphine.  
All he can think is: that's against the law.

Of course, then his next lucid thought is, who cares what happens to black boy who got into a fight with gangbangers? Who cares if a boy like him, just … suddenly disappeared? The doors open, steel and thick Eli notes, and a quiet, shy nurse walks in. Her black hair is tied into a thick rope of a braid and she keeps her eyes on the ground. Eli decides that's not a good sign so he tries to speak.  
“Excuse me,” he starts with, because his mother and grandmother raised him right. “Can you tell me where we are?”  
“Orders,” she says, her voice wobbling as she inches closer, checking the machines around him and sparing a glance to his handcuffs. “Sorry,” she adds, belatedly, before stepping back.  
“No, wait,” he says, struggling against his restraints. “Wait!”

The days blur a little after that, him waiting for some all clear from someone, but he eventually gets out of the hospital bed, sent to a room that seems a little ... off. He doesn't trust the windows, with their dark skies and the noise from the street below. Somehow, he can't believe it. It doesn't seem like this shady whatever ... agency, to just let him back into the real world, or even have kept in it since he was taken. It doesn't make sense.  
“My name is Agent Jones. Call me Jess, we'll be here for a while,” she says, with a hint of a smile, as it were funny, not knowing when he'd get to go home.

 

She wasn't kidding, he thinks, as the parade of doctors and teachers, experts and personal trainers, appear like clockwork every day for almost two weeks.  
“Why?” he eventually asks, the first words he’s said to her since that first day.  
She looks up, head tilted curiously. “Why what, Mr. Bradley?”  
“Why don’t you just … let me …?”  
“You’re under S.H.I.E.L.D. custody. That means we’re your acting guardians.” She pauses. He counts to a hundred. Then, just for laughs, he counts again. “Your grandparents signed a waiver giving us the right, seeing as you're a minor."  
He doesn't let her see him react. That’s all he has left, anyway, his thoughts. Until they build a machine for that, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up are the Langs and weird astronomical anomalies in New Mexico.


	3. Every Superhero(ine) Needs A Tragic Backstory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world is out to get Cassie Lang, she just knows it. Almost dying, her father wrongly convicted, her mother divorcing and remarrying a weird cop, her father dying. She's had a stupid dumb life so far. And she's got a lot more of this stupid dumb life ahead of her. She's only 11. There's practically decades of her life left.

Eli stares at the wall behind the agent. The blank, boring, metallic wall.  
The agent, Cage, because Jones is gone on some mission, watches the wall behind Eli.  
Neither speaks. Eli refuses to talk to the people, the shrinks and the medical doctors, they parade in front of him, aside from asking when he can go. He knows his rights. He knows this is illegal detainment. He'll just wait it out.  
Silently, for the most part.  
Rinse and repeat with breaks for food until it's lights out.

It was a day like any other. He got up (in his room/cell), changed (into one of those those hideous suits they gave him) and he was escorted to that metal room.

Yet, at noon, instead of the shrink who visits every two days, he gets the other agent. He gets Jones, the lady who looks angry that he's here, and he can relate. Not that Cage didn't feel equally as upset, if he felt any emotion, Eli's still on the fence about that, but she doesn't hide it as well as him. Maybe she can't, which makes him feel better about it. Somehow.  
"We're having a new recruit," she says, almost a month later, three weeks since Eli's seen her last.  
He stares at her, surprised. Usually, they never talk, only slide paper files across the desk. Well, she slides, he reads. And asks questions. He never gets any answers but it hasn't stopped him yet.  
Agent Jones slides a paper file across the desk. "Learn the name and face," she says, her frown more pronounced today. "She's joining the program sometime this year. You'll be training alongside her and any other recruits."  
"So there's going to be more kidnappings?" Eli asks, still not reaching for the file. Jones raises an eyebrow. Eli glares, snatching the file and looking through it.  
"They're not kidnappings," Jones sighs, tiredly. "You know that. They're protective custody details for all of the participants."  
"Unwilling participants," Eli scowls. "Why are you doing this, again?"  
"It's a subsection of the Mutant Registration Act."  
"I'm not a mutant," he says.  
"No," she agrees. "You're a mutate, officially. That means, according to the Mutant Registration Act, for all intents and purposes, you are a subject of that law."  
"I'm not a ..."  
"You are," she cuts in swiftly. "I have someplace else to be, Bradley, so I'll keep it simple." Eli tilts his head. "You're not the first person in this program, nor are you the first in your group. And you sure as hell won't be the last."  
"I have a group? Why is she in it?"  
"She's got powers," she says, and he blinks, surprised. She doesn't seem so sure of that fact. "We need to keep her safe. The safest place for people like you, and her, is here."  
"Okay," he says, looking down at the file, lines blacked out more than not, various pictures of a girl with pigtails. His first thought is, this is wrong.  
"Miss Lang is 11," Jones states, add if sensing his apprehension. "We're supposed to keep you kids out of harm's way. This program will do that."  
"She's younger than me! By a lot!"  
"Miss Lang is fully capable of fooling many people. She's smart."  
"Anyone's smart," he scoffs. "She's a little girl," he argues, thinking of his younger sister. "How can you take her, or me, away from our families?"  
"We tell ourselves it's for the greater good, keeping your families alive."  
He flinches. "That's not what I ..."  
"And," she says, sourly, as she stands. "She's going to be the second person to voluntarily join."

 

~*~*~*~

Puente Antiguo, New Mexico

~*~*~*~

"No offense, Mrs. Burdick," he says, blandly. "But no one will believe the rattled ex-wife of a former convict, whose criminal life cost him his life, and a few hours ago, cost both of you, the life of your daughter."  
She gasps. "No, you ... you took her!" she shouts, Blake holding her back. "YOU MONSTER."  
"Please don't make a scene, Mrs. Burdick," he says, blandly. "It will only cement our newly fabricated story."  
"How dare you?" Blake demands, gripping Peggy. "You release her right now."  
"I'm sorry, but under the new Super Human Registration Act, there are provisos for people such as your step-daughter. She is now under our protective custody."  
"But ... everyone saw her, she's alive."  
"Mr. Burdick, in the aftermath of an event such as this, witnesses are unreliable." The agents pauses. "I will allow you to say goodbye, if you want."

Cassie watches as they escort her mother into the room. "Cassie, are you all right?"  
She bristles. "I'm fine."  
Peggy nods, like a bobble head. "Don't worry, we'll get you out in ..."  
"I'm not leaving."  
"Excuse me?" Peggy stammers, looking down at her daughter, who glares back.  
"I'm staying. These people worked with my father."  
"Your father was a criminal and these are government agents. The only way they'd know him is if they were trying to arrest him," Peggy snarls. "Cassandra Eleanor Lang, you will walk out of this place with me or so help me, I'll ..."  
"You'll ... what? Sue? They told me they've made sure I disappeared because of what happened here. Don't you think it's weird, that Dad 'died' back at the Stark Expo and now, suddenly, this happens?"  
"Cassie, he's dead."  
"So am I," she replies stubbornly. "And yet ..."  
"I identified his body."  
"Could have been a fake," she says, mouth trembling. "It could have been."  
"It wasn't, Cassie. And you will be home soon."  
"Agent C said it could be voluntary, or not, but I was staying here. There's a law now, for people like me."  
"People like you?"  
Cassie nods. "People who are different."

 

~*~*~*~

Cassandra Eleanor Lang  
Date of Birth: 03/09/00  
Family: Peggy Sue Burdick (Mother), Scott Lang (father, deceased), Blake Burdick (step-father).  
Abilities: UNKNOWN  
Sector: D.A.Y.C.A.R.E.

 

When Cassandra Eleanor Lang was a little girl, she was sick. It was a heart thing, that's all she wants to know. The hospital papers were filched from her mother’s room, currently residing in an oak box her father bought her, under her bed. She thinks she knows a few details, but mostly it’s a heart defect in her mind. She can’t make herself read those papers, the last thing her father did for her, before he'd gone to jail, back when things were good. Frankly, a few years later, it's still a heart thing. But the point of it all, she loved her father. Her father was her hero, like it always went. She loved him. He loved her. They were happy. She remembers being happy. She liked happy.  


When Cassandra Eleanor Lang was a little girl, she was the daughter of petty criminal, Scott Lang. Scott Lang wasn't the best guy, he wasn't the worst. He separated from Peggy and eventually divorced her. He had a girlfriend, he drank on the weekends he didn't have Cassie. He was decent, or so Cassie says. But really, it all started with the stealing. It was a major point. Scott stole because he'd been fired from his job, because his little girl, his scientist in the making, was dying and needed the best doctors in the world. And everyone knew that the best costs money, money he didn't have. Would he rather do a few years in jail with a live, healthy baby girl waiting for him or a dead girl and his crumbling morality? He didn't have to choose.  


Then again, it wasn't much of a choice. He'd chose her, over and over again. In no universe would he want to outlive his daughter, his darling girl. To be fair, he only got caught because Peggy, the mother of his baby, decided she didn't want anything to do with his 'blood money'. But he'd taken her, kissed her tiny forehead while they administered anesthesia, and helped her count down. He'd been there, during the entire surgery, and watched as they did the best they could, which was enough for her, for him. And when she woke up, if it was her mother spewing hate, so what? She was alive and that's all that mattered to him.  


When Cassandra Eleanor Lang was Cassie Lang, she got taken from a small, rural town in New Mexico. When she was taken by a bunch of agents from a shady agency, she didn't have her father to rely on. She only had her wits, her limited skills and very little information. But she was smart, cunning, hardened in the way she shouldn't be at her age, at her tiny 11 years. So when the agents, feigning kindness, step into the room, she is not going to stupidly believe every word they utter. Instead, she's throwing their information back at them, giving then nothing new. She's testing them, has been for a few hours. She's freaked out of her mind, but she doesn't let it show. She ran away when she was six, when she was eight and she'll run away now.  
“There's no need to do this, Miss Lang,” Agent Cool and Collected replies.  
Agent Sickeningly Sweet lets out a soft breath. “We should just tell her everything. She needs to know.”  
Cassie merely stares at them. “Pass,” she says. “I want to go back to Old Bridge.”  
“Puente Antigua is under construction, due to a freak tornado. Many were lost,” Agent C replies. “Your mother is devastated.”  
“But we could tell her you're fine if you answer these questions. Just a few questions,” Agent S hums. “Then you're free to go.”  
“As if,” Cassie scoffs. “I want my lawyer,” she repeats. “Is that a thing?”  
“You're not under arrest.”  
“Then let me go.”  
“You're under the protective custody of S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Agent C barks. “And we're not allowed to let you leave!”  
“So there's no reason to answer your questions,” she shrugs. “I'm hungry. Can I get lunch?”  
Agent C slams his fist on the table and gets up, leaving the room entirely. Agent S stares at her. “What do you want for lunch?”  
“Food,” she shrugs again. “I know it's going to be drugged, so maybe tasteless drugs or really overpowering food tastes. Surprise me,” she smiles ferociously. “I'll be here, waiting.”  
The agent smiles, secretively, as if she had one last card to play, and leaves.

When Cassie Lang was a little girl, she wanted to be just like her dad. She wanted to make the world a better place. She wanted to help people. She wanted to be happy. Cassie Lang wanted to make a change, to be a part of something bigger, to travel and work alongside her 'Uncle' Hank, work beside her smiling 'Aunt' Jan, and to meet all of her father's friends. She wanted to have a family that didn't fight behind doors, shouting loud enough to hear from under her pillows. She wanted to know that Dad's girlfriend Jess wouldn't eventually disappear from her life.  
Well, she got one wish granted.

“Hello, Cassie,” Jessica Jones states, holding a tray of food. “It's been a long time, hasn't it?”  
She blinks owlishly at her. “Jess?”


	4. Weekends and Bleak Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puente Antiguo sounds Spanish for old bridge, which is a boring place to vacation. Cassie's stepfather is disgusting and mean and she misses her father. Aunt Jan would have never allowed this.
> 
> S.H.I.E.L.D. is super into Orwell's novel and that's creepy.

Four Days Earlier

 

Cassie stares at the pamphlet before her, as they wait for their dinner. “We’re going to New Mexico,” she says flatly, as she sinks into the chair across from them. “That’s the great, big, wonderful surprise? Are you sure? Are you sure it isn't tickets to the Stark Expo?”

Peggy purses her lips. “This is a very nice vacation. Blake has a house there. It’s in Puente Antiguo. It’s a small town, something new. You've never been outside the city, Cassie.”

“You realize the town is literally named old bridge, right? Is it Spanish? It feels like it’s Spanish. And I've gone outside the city limits, thanks a lot. Dad took me with him …”

“Oh, so that’s it?” Blake interrupts. “Your criminal father…”

“Don’t talk about him like that!”

“He was a criminal!”

“And how’s it feel, Blake? That I like, no, that I love him more than I’d ever love you? Does it sting?”

Blake takes a step towards her. Peggy yanks him back into his seat. “Stop!” she hisses. “Both of you stop this instant. We are going on this vacation and we are going to enjoy it, as a new family.”

“Next you’ll say we’re going fishing.”

“I happen to like fishing. Lowlifes, fish, it makes no difference to me.”

Cassie snorts, pulling away from them. “It’s probably because you’ve gotten too many hits to the head.”

“Cassandra!”

“I was going to stay for the Stark Expo,” she mutters, picking at her meal. “There’s going to be this big unveiling of Hammer Tech at the show tomorrow night and I wanted to see him fail. Uncle Hank said that Aunt Jan's new tablet can totally …”

“He’s not your uncle, Cassie.”

“And he,” she says, nodding towards Blake, “is not my father. And yet, here we are, Mom. I want to stay and see it.”

“You can watch it online, can’t you? Stream it or whatnot?”

“Thanks for that, Blake. That was super helpful. Mom, I want to stay.”

“I’m sorry, but we’re going to this trip and you can’t stay here alone.”

“But if we ask Uncle Hank or even Aunt Jan, he’d totally …”

“I am not discussing this further, Cassandra. Now, finish your food.”

 

 

Cassie glared at her mother. “This is unfair. The one thing I wanted to do, and it’s attacked. And I can’t even watch it because I’m stuck in the stupid airport.”

“You know, Cassandra, most children would love to be taken out of school early for summer vacation.”

“Great, take one of them,” she grumbles. “I wanted to be at the Expo. Well, not now, but before I knew this would happen.”

“The great outdoors will do you a world of good, Cass Lass,” Blake smirks. “That old ticker might go out if you don’t put it to use.”

“Are you serious?” Cassie demands, throwing her bag at them. “I’m going to ask when the plane’s due.”

“Come back here young lady,” Peggy calls out, annoyed. “Cassandra!”

“Let her go,” Blake says soothingly. “She can’t get into any trouble here. There’s a lot of security. She’ll be fine.”

 

 

“Well, we’re here. A few hours late, but we’re here,” Peggy says to house, cheeriness marred by weariness. “We’ll unpack and see if that diner makes any good food.”

“I’m going to check the Stark Expo updates, first,” Cassie calls out, already unpacking her laptop. “This place has wifi, right?”

“The city doesn’t live in the stone age, dear.”

“Could have fooled me,” she shrugs, already logging onto the website. “Do you think … Hey!”

“Unpack your clothes and then worry about things you can’t understand.”

“Dad would have let me watch.”

“Your father also led a life of crime,” she harshly reminds her. “He is hardly the epitome of good parenting.”

“And yet, still think he’s better. Also, he ‘led a life of crime’ to pay for, what? I’m sorry, I can’t hear you Mom. Oh, that’s right, my heart surgery. Gee, is that important? It sure sounds important.”

“Unpack,” she seethes.

“Delighted to,” Cassie grumbles, swiping her laptop as she heads up the stairs, her duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

 

      The diners chat about the hammer protruding the ground and how S.H.I.E.L.D. has already taken over it. Cassie listens in, interested. Her father always had ideas for the more fantastical side of science. It was what attracted her Aunt Jan, his simple, yet fantastical ideas. Her Uncle Tony, her Uncle Hank and Aunt Jan, they helped instill her wuth the natural curiosity and precociousness of a budding scientist. It also lends to the whole ‘science is worth the trouble’ attitude she’s formed. father. So she hatches a plan to go out to the field, somehow. It’s the first day of June, she’s going to spend it doing something she likes, even if it kills her.

  
Hopefully, it doesn’t kill her.

 

~*~*~*~

 

      She watches the late night news, her mom and Blake in the kitchen, talking, a watchful eye on the ticker sluggishly trailing on the bottom of the screen. It bears fruit instantly, as she reads that Culver University is under a minor lockdown and that some Stark tanks are heading towards it, or so reports say. She pulls up her laptop, intent on researching the school. Minutes later, she has nothing. A frog croaks and she turns to the window. Nate, the boy she’d met earlier, waves at her, before ducking.

“What are you doing?” Peggy asks, curious.

“Watching the news and Stark reports,” she says, callously. “Do you mind? I like to spend this time alone.”

Peggy takes a step back, surprised by the callousness in her daughter’s voice. “Cassandra, I don’t know what has gotten into you lately, but I don’t like it.”

      With that, she turns and leaves the room. Blake glares at her as he climbs up the steps after her. Perfect, she thinks, as she turns off the TV and packs up her things into her bag, grabbing her shoes and motioning to Nate to go around, to the back door. She said she’d get to the hammer and she will.

“Look at you, sneaking out,” he grins. “Are you sure?”

She nods. “I’m sure.”

“This is your choice,” he says, ominously, as he walks her to the two bikes standing by the fence. “Well, let’s go break the law.”

 

 

“There’s a …” Cassie starts, as she watches the trench. “There’s a huge camp down there. I thought they showed up last night.”

“They did. It’s going to rain soon.”

“It’s just a little water,” she waves off, watching the scene below. “I just want to stay a few more minutes, okay?”

 

 

Phil Coulson smiles tersely at the blond man. "Excuse me for a minute."

He steps out into the hall. "Talk to me."

The agent glances at him, looking harried. "Sir, Agent Barton spotted these kids outside, trying to get a closer look."

Phil examines them, before waving them off. "Let them go, they're harmless. And make sure their parents know they're breaking curfew."

"Yes, sir," the agent nods, as she tries to herd the kids out the makeshift base. "You kids got lucky this time."

The smaller of the two children narrows her eyes, tilting her head. "Don't I know you?"

"I doubt it," Coulson says with a faint smile, turning away.

"He's cleared," another agent murmurs. "It's not really clearing through. It's a good effort, though," she says, clearing admiring the hacker's work.

"You're friends with Jess," the child says, and Coulson, nodding at the techie, tries his best to ignore the heavy feeling in his stomach, the one that says he's going to need a bottle of antacids to go along with his paperwork this week.

"Sorry about that," he apologizes to his prisoner.

 

 

~*~*~*~

 

 

      When Cassie is led to her room, or rather suite, as Jess explains, she notices the halls are somewhat empty. It makes sense, maybe. She's a threat, apparently, and she needs to be quarantined, supposedly. So it stands to reason she'd need to be isolated, more or less. She can totally adjust to this. Maybe, she could even bump into her father. If he's here, in this facility, and not in some other one. Or maybe she can wait him out, until he finds her in the database one day, and helps her escape. She'd be under their watch if he had custody of her.

“For now, you'll be sharing a set of rooms with me,” Jess explains. “It's both to make you feel both ill at ease and more comfortable being surrounded by strangers.” Cassie nods, staring at the walls.  
      The problem with this place was ... it was too nice. It didn't look like a prison. The living room, where they were standing currently, didn't have prison walls. The one at the far end is covered in a mural and it looks nice. There are pictures--not the fake, clearly staged ones that came with the frame pictures. These are real pictures, of her and her father, of her mother and father holding a tiny Cassie in their arms, a few of the city, of her day trip to Coney Island with her father (she'd skipped school that day and it was the best memory she'd forgotten). It's confusing.

“We want you to feel at home,” Jess explains, softly. “This is a protective custody detail, not detainment. If you need anything, just tell me or any of the other agents and we'll get back to you on it. Requests take a lot of paperwork, but you'll probably have it within a business week.”

 

 

 

She meets the other boy, older than her, who glares at her. "Hi. I'm Cassie Lang," she introduces.

"Eli," he grunts. "You're little."

"I'm 11," she argues.

"Barely," he replies. "You're still a kid."

"And you're old and wise?" she bites back, crossing her arms.

He lets out a laugh. "14," he snorts. "What are you in for?"

"I'm different, apparently. Also, Agent Jones dated my dad, before he died."

"Oh."

"So that stupid ... stupidness about keeping us safe, it's all stupid lies."

"I know."

She blinks. "Oh."

"Sorry about your dad," he offers.

"Yeah," she nods, taking a seat, one far from him. She sits silently, looking at her clasped hands.

He looks to door, waiting for one of the agents. Usually, he wasn't allowed into this part of the building, unless it was Thursday. Today's Tuesday, by his calculations.

"Do you read comics?"

"Why?" he asks, suspicious. Being held against your will does that to a person. Though, he was always on the wary side.

"My dad read them and I like them, but I don't ... they didn't ..."

"We make requests for reading materials and stuff. You can ask Agent Jones when you see her. Usually takes a few days," he shrugs.

"Okay," she says, dully.

 

He makes a note to request the comics for her, hoping they kept tabs on that sort of thing, and with the level of care they took into bringing them in, how could they not? He ignores the grateful look, thinks about anything but the dull pang in his chest. He doesn't think the look reminds him of his younger sisters, nope, not at all. He doesn't think about anything, really.

 

 

 

"Hello and welcome, officially, to D.A.Y.C.A.R.E.," a voice booms. Agent Jones walks into the room and nods. "It stands for Daily Advanced Youth Character And Regimented Education," she explains. "This program is a part of Weapon Plus and INDEX. You don't need to know what it means. During D.A.Y.C.A.R.E., various agents and items will help you all control your powers and keep you educated by national standards.You will have personalized meals, be assigned school work, attend therapy sessions, training, and you will get to have controlled social interaction with various off duty agents. You will also, obviously have monthly doctor and dentist checkups, plus free time."

"Jess?" Cassie calls out, raising her hand.

"Yes, Cassie?"

"Does this mean we have school, like tutoring?"

"Yes. You'll have weekly visits with our S.H.I.E.L.D. psychiatrist, Dr. Michelle Barnett. She is prepped on your unique situation and will be on call 24/7 if you need a session with her outside of the weekly visits."

"I ... I don't want to talk with her."

"You have to," Jess says gently. "I promise she won't bring up Scott, or anything you don't want to, but you need to talk with her. We need to make sure you're okay, emotionally and physically."

Cassie looks at her, her gaze unnervingly strong. "Do you promise?"

"Yes."

The tiny blonde nods, once, stiffly. “Okay. I can do it.”

“I know you can,” Jess says, trying not to think about how she last saw that particular brand of horror on her face, back when they’d lost Scott. She tries not to think about him.

“So the people I've been seeing …” Eli starts.

“They’re not the official team we've assigned to help you during your stay.”

“And how long is our stay, again?”

Jess ignores him. “If you cooperate, we will become more lenient. Your cards will allow farther and longer access to other parts of this building, as well as less babysitters.”

“The cameras monitor us,” Cassie points out, frowning. “You can’t turn them off.”

Jess shrugs. “I only know how it’ll be in theory.”

“I didn't react nicely to being kidnapped,” Eli explains to Cassie, who nods sagely. He turns to Jess. “So when do we get to go out?”

“When your protection detail’s over,” she says briskly, turning on her heel and leaving them.

Cage gives her a knowing look as he takes over, pushing himself off the wall and heading for the kids. She doesn't react when Cassie demands to know why he’s here, why anyone is here, or where the cafeteria is, and when they serve mac and cheese.

She doesn't.

 

 

 

"Do you talk to your family?" she asks, her feet swinging off the ledge, overlooking the training room.

"Do you?" he asks, eyes straight.

"My mom is pretty angry. She's trying to get me back home."

"Huh. They convinced my grandparents that it was for the good of the country that I should stay. They're former military," he shrugs. "I send mail to my sisters every week. Don't know if they get them, but I'm allowed to do that. They're in Arizona so it doesn't change much."

"I wanted to send a thing to my dad's sister, but she ... I don't ..." she stammers, before slamming her mouth shut as the double doors to the room open, Agent Jones walking inside.

"Mister Bradley, Miss Lang," she says, beckoning them closer.

 

Agent Jones, or Just Jess, hands them their specially designed collars, Stark Industries' logo etched next to the locking mechanism. “It's just a precaution, you know,” she says, gently, blandly. “We can't risk you children being exposed to unknown dangers.” She pauses. “And yet, you are children and you need time outside.”

“We're going outside?” Cassie asks, cheering up.

“Is this a trick?” Eli demands suspiciously, having been here a bit longer than Cassie, enough to be bitter. “Are you tricking us?”

“No,” Jess replies. “We have decided it would be better if one of your weekly training sessions be outside, for now. If all goes well, you'll have them every other day, weather permitting. You know the drill,” she says, as her face smooths. “Your mental and physical well-being is ...”

“Under lock and key of the government?” Eli finishes. “That's good to hear.”

"Your mental and physical well being is important to us," she says, as she pointedly hands over the collars.

 

 

 

After their second day out, while they sit in the common room, Cassie fidgets. She doesn't particularly like free time, doesn't like being confined to one area for too long. Worse, she hates asking the agents watching over them if they can escort her to another place. To be honest, it weirds Eli out, too.

"Just ask already," Eli states, eyes never straying from the book in his hands. "You're giving me anxiety."

“Do you think there are others, like us here?” Cassie rushes. “Also, have you noticed that our badges say 'level one' in navy blue letters?”

Eli looks up from the book in his hands. “You mean, like kids?” She shrugs. “No. We'd have seen them before now.”

“The badges, then,” she prompts. “Tell me you've noticed that.”

“I have,” he agrees, gripping the book tighter. “I also noticed we're the only level one 'agents' on this floor.”

“So you have a theory?”

“I have a theory,” he nods. “I don't like it.”

Cassie nods, turning back to the TV, where heavily censored news plays.

“We're ghosts.”

“What?”

“In this system,” he continues. “Our keycards always take a few seconds to click, you know?” She nods again. “I think it's because they're just trackers, which shows whoever's watching us where we are, and which doors to open manually, from afar.”

“So we're dangerous to the point where even this big spy agency, this worldwide one, doesn't want to have any record of us being held for our own good?”

“Told you I didn't like it,” he mutters. “It's too ... Big Brother for me.”

“Kinda explains things,” she says, reluctantly. “Do you think they're recording our conversations?”

“And reporting us talking about why we're here? Don't worry. They only come in when we're in danger, or they're in danger. It's a rule, I think.”

She glances down at her book. "Do you think they'll ever tell us the truth?"

"The truth is written by the winners," he says, wincing as Cassie curls within herself, as if shielding her mind, her body, from the truth.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Amadeus finds out weapons are made, not only of metals and sharpened objects, but of unwilling and sometimes unsuspecting people. Maybe he shouldn't have placed his meager trust in a redhead who promised his family's safety. Maybe the only reason she could promise that was because SHE was the one putting them in danger in the first place.  
> Being a weapon, it finds a way to get to you.


	5. Weapons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amadeus Cho knew better. He knew better and he still trusted spies.  
> He let someone die, because he was so naive.  
> Amadeus is a killer, practically.  
> A weapon.

 

 

"We brought back three Indexed Items," he hears Coulson report back. "One is New Mexico's P.O.I.'s interest in Project Avenger. The other two ... you've got to see for yourself."

Amadeus looks back to the papers, to the names.

The Destroyer.

Thor Odinson.

 

It takes him two minutes, one of reviewing old Norse mythology and another to grin manically, to realize that Cassie Lang, one of the youngest P.O.I.s so far, is off the list.

Deceased.

Cassie Lang is dead.

 

~*~*~*~

 

Natasha isn't here, is still on her mission.

Whatever.

      He's not a kid. He's not going to go crying to her every time he's hurt Amadeus Cho held out as a fugitive from all those search and rescue people for over a year, tricked S.H.I.E.L.D. for over a year. He survived just fine by himself.

He wonders if the girl liked science. Her father was always in the Van Dyne/Pym labs, always around the scientists. What if the girl got curious, like he would have? What if the girl liked science?

Cassie, his mind cruelly reminds him. The girl had a name, a life. The girl is named Cassie.

 

"Mr. Cho? My name is Michelle Barnett, I'm a ..."

"I know what you are. I'm not interested. Thanks."

"Quite a few agents are worried about your mental health. I was sent in to see if their instincts were right in calling me away from my clients."

"They were wrong. You can go."

"Amadeus."

"GO!" he shouts, sobs, cries, hand wavering. "You can go and tell them I'm mourning the death of a girl, who I totally killed! Me! I got her killed."

Dr. Barnett blinks. "I see. And who is this girl?"

"Cassie," he says, before wincing. "Go away. I want to be alone."

"She's alive."

"Sure," he snorts, as he watches her leave. He knows a placating adult lie when he hears one.

 

Where is Kirby when he needs a non-judgmental friend?

 

~*~*~*~

 

 

      It was supposed to help. It was just a computer program, one that took the last century's set of censuses, various libraries’ information, and family trees of various people of interest, and it collected, collected information. Then, after getting new information or parameters, it compared every single name and packet of information to the national average. It scanned the packets of information, the people, their physical and mental capabilities, and compared them to the national average. If they were above the average, it started out by marking the 'significant outliers' as "superhuman" and puttering out the person’s dossier, filled with basic things. It had their name, the most recent picture, their date of birth, last known location, their abilities, any health problems, list of living family, list of close friends, and a short history.

      Later, after they're captured, they also contain biometric information (fingerprints, palm veins, facial recognition, DNA, palm prints, hand geometry, and finally, iris and retina recognition), any known and possible powers, specialties, weaknesses, known and possible safe houses, and affiliations of all sorts. They all have the word 'subject' rather than name, Amadeus notices with dread. Then, it hits him; all this information, they didn't need a machine to spout it out, they got almost all of this from him, willingly.

 

He blinks back tears as he forces himself to look at Cassie Lang's folder, to memorize how the feeling tears at him, guilt.

He never even thought ...

New Mexico is horrible place to die.

 

~*~*~*~

 

It takes a few more days, a few more days of guilt for Natasha to finish up on her mission, but she comes back.

She comes back and Amadeus feels like he can talk now, can breathe, because Natasha would tell him the truth, regardless of how much he could handle it, she would tell him the truth.  
So he coughs, tries to regain his courage, and Natasha looks up. "Yes?" she asks.

"How did you find me?"

"You live here," she replies, her eyes falling back to her report. "I have told you countless times that you need your sleep." She glances up at him, just a tiny flicker upward. "Your handler, Moore, she told me you refused to sleep for a week. Hill says you refused Dr. Barnett's assessment."

"No," he cuts in, insistent. He's sure he looks perfectly unstable, the opposite of how she left him, but he's desperate. He needs to know. "How did you find me, before?"

"Don't worry," she says, soothingly, as she leans towards him. "No one else will find ..."

He jolts away from her, pacing the floor. "Was it a machine like this one? Was it this exact machine? Was the first name to pop out Stark, as in Howard Stark? Or was it his son's name that did it? Did he get scared, realize what this could mean? Is that why Stark Industries tried so hard to find Captain Rogers, because he had proof he was alive? Was this machine ...?"

"We built this a few years ago, out of parts from Stark Industries, with the help of Susan Storm and Reed Richards, who were a bit older than you, at the time. He was the one who let us see ten names, each one trudging out slowly, like a printer of decades ago, and she was the one who thought too much power would corrupt. You're the first one we've had to try and crack it."

"They're kids," he says, horrified. "I was a kid! You can't just ... you had to get permission from my parents!" he adds, clutching at straws, at his sanity. "You can't just ..."

"Drafting minors is not a problem. It would be if the United States was a signatory to the Rome Statute of the International Criminal Court and it is not."

"That doesn't make it right!" he shouts. "You can't do this."

"For the greater good," Natasha says, softly, looking away. "We can do a lot." She looks away. "It is all about how we deal with it. The power of the United States may be exerted to supersede parents’ control, according to a 1940s court case. After the SHRA, it was amended, so that this could be possible, if needed."

"In 2002, the US ratified the UN Optional protocol on the involvement of children in armed conflict, which provides protection for anyone below the age of 18."

"This is not conscription, Amadeus. This is protective custody."

"You're forcing them, me, to work for the government, which is such a violation of my civil rights."

"We are not keeping you hostage, Amadeus," she reminds him. "You are here of your own will. You stepped into the car, remember?"

      He wilts, falls to the ground, his legs giving out. He doesn't know how long he sits there, on the edge of his bed, the cool tiles underneath his hands, Natasha scribbling into her S.H.I.E.L.D. report. It's been enough that Kirby returns from his evening walk, an unknown agent at his leash. Kirby bounds over, noticing his inner turmoil, the agent lets go, and Natasha stands. He nods, hearing the vibrations of her voice, as he digs his head into Kirby's coat. He listens to the distant ping of the door, of the soft whoosh as it closes, and focuses on Kirby's heartbeat.

He's never been a weapon before.

All Amadeus Cho wanted to do was help the world, do good for society, be good. From the start, from that stupid, cursed contest, all he ever wanted was to ... childishly help.

Amadeus became a weapon instead.

 

~*~*~*~

 

 

"This is for you," Agent Jones states, handing Eli an oddly shaped shield. "The entire shield is made of a silicon-carbide Vibranium alloy. It's strong enough to hold back even an Asgardian."

"What's an Asgardian?" Eli asks, purely on principle.

"It's completely bulletproof, and lightweight," Jessica continues swiftly. "Don't lose it."

"How would I lose it?"

Jones ignores him, turning to Cassie. "Miss Lang, you get yet another suit, in case you outgrow your previous one."

"I asked for my dad's helmet."

"Dr. Van Dyne has denied your request. And since she is the owner of said helmet, her word is law."

"If you'd just ..."

"Miss Lang, need I remind you that this is not up for discussion."

"I want to talk to her," she grumbles, snatching the modified S.H.I.E.L.D. suit out of her hands. "She promised we'd ..."

Jessica sighs, thinking of the few dates she unwittingly had with her 'former criminal' of a father. "Dr. Van Dyne is currently out of the country, with her daughter. So we'll ask her when she gets back."

 

~*~*~*~

 

He finds the others, all the agents, digs into the archives to find the ones he needs. The ones who may not have been entirely brainwashed, the ones with hope, still.

He finds four.

“Miss Jones?”

“Agent,” she replies, looking at him. “You’re a little young for S.H.I.E.L.D, aren’t you?”

“You’re head of Project D.A.Y.C.A.R.E., aren’t you?”

“What’s it to you, kid?”

“I know how to close it.”

She stares at him.

And stares.

Finally, her mouth quirks upward.

“I’m listening, kid.”

 

And so it begins.

 

It was a day like any other when Amadeus Cho grew up.

When he grew up and decided his own future, thank you very much, nothing was different.

Amadeus Cho, despite all former unintentional misuse of his intelligence ... Amadeus is going to help save the world.

You're welcome.


	6. Stay In Spy School

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even kids being held by spy agencies need school.

"These are your tutors," Jones says, as she brings in Agent Morse. She gives them both a thin dossier on Cage, Rand, Romanoff (though she's sure it's Romanov), and May. "They'll help supplement the textbooks we give you, and I'll also lend my help with English."  
"You were serious about the school," Eli says, snorting. "I thought that was a joke. That you were trying to make this place like a fake life."  
"Kids need school," Cassie chirps, though her eyes are filled with distrust. "Are we going to spy school or is this brainwashing 101?"  
"Neither," Jones replies. "This is school. We will teach you skills, survival skills and such, but only until you're caught up with your designated schoolwork."  
"So ... brainwashing spy school," Eli replies, glaring. "When do we start?"  
"Now," Jones replies, smiling vindictively. "Agent Morse, if you will."  
  
"You may or may not know your new science teacher," Jess says, looking at Cassie. "She's quite famous in her circles."  
"Is it ...?" Cassie half-asks, hope filling her voice. She looks like she could soar. Jess thinks she knows a little about blonde women who fly.  
"I'm Dr. Elizabeth Ross, you can call me ... Betty," a brunette woman says, stepping into the room, looking slightly frazzled. "Um, I thought you meant junior agents, as in ... legal to drink."  
"They take some getting used to," Jess agrees.  
Cassie doesn't look at her for the rest of the day.  
  
"Dr. Van Dyne wants to teach our agents some science," Cage tells her, as he always does, first thing every morning. "She's insistent."  
"Get Dr. Foster in here, maybe she can teach them physics."  
"Bringing in random people we've been in contact with, it won't stop her from calling. Besides, Doc Foster still hates us. Maybe Van Dyne ..."  
"I know. I know her," Jess stresses. "She'll stop."  
Doctor Janet Van Dyne, formerly Van Dyne-Pym, glares at her. She glares through the screen. It's almost like being back ... there.  
"I want to see her."  
"She's dead, Doc," Jess says, trying not to spill her secrets to this woman.  
      They, on one memorable night, drank a few bottles of some fancy wine from some place or the other, on the roof of the lab and tried to fly the W.A.S.P. suit. She had an movie night turned impromptu sleepover with her once, when Cassie came over, having her sole monthly father-and-daughter weekend take backseat to Pym's stupid suit. She remembers holding Cassie in her arms, as Jan told her how much she wanted Hope, how she needed that, hope. She told Jess about the good things in her life, now.  
      There were also bad things. She told Jess how her marriage was falling apart. She told Jess how Jan was feeling more and more the mistress to Pym's stupid suit, to his science. Janet Van Dyne once broke down on the same couch, telling her about The Incident. It was that couch where Janet showed her the acid burns, healing slowly. She handed Jess the keys to the house, to the lab. She told Jess everything Jess needed to take her down, take down Pym, to steal their life's work.  
"You're a a liar, Jessica Jones," she says, sounding defeated more than anything. "You're a liar and a cruel woman."  
"She's not yours."  
"We helped raise her, or was that just part of your 'mission?'" she snarls, enraged now.  
      She would be remembering the pizza they all shared on the slightly questionable table, the oil stains mixing with the pizza grease. She would be remembering Hope, teenage Hope, sitting on the bright yellow plastic table, reading to little Cassie. She would be thinking of Cassie doodling, her childish hands drawing molecular structures with crayons, as they all sang along to whatever pop song was playing on the radio. She would be thinking of how the scientists would drop off Hope at their apartment, before going out on a monthly, mandated (by Jan) date night. Janet Van Dyne would be remembering the calm before the storm, before Jess' betrayal.  
  
"She's dead," Jess repeats, hanging up.  
Cage stares at her. Jess blinks away the stray tears. "I'd believe you."  
"Van Dyne's smarter than that," she mutters. "Stop letting her call. She can't ..."  
"Are you afraid she'll try to take Cassie?" Jess shakes her head. "Then I'll have to go with my personal favorite," Cage says, amused.  
"And that's ...?"  
"You're afraid she built her a suit and managed to keep it from S.H.I.E.L.D."  
"I'm afraid her DNA can activate the A.N.T.M.A.N. suit. We can't let her close to it. She'll get herself killed. She has a heart condition."  
"So does that billionaire," Cage says, smiling thinly. "You're worried about her."  
"Someone has to be," she grumbles, walking away.  
She has a bad feeling about this.  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
Bad feelings usually save you from dying, but Jess isn't so sure she's not just feeling the memories of her cover.  
So she exercises caution and continues on with the program.  
  
“Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes is here to teach you a few skills. Rhodes is an experienced soldier trained in unarmed combat and military weaponry such as small arms.”  
Both of them stare at each other. “Do we have to?” Eli asks, mouth pursed, as Cassie stares at Jess. “We’re young. She’s literally 12.”  
“You need to be prepared,” a man calls out, as he steps into the training room. “I’m Lieutenant Coronel James Rhodes. You can call me Rhodey, most people do. I’m here to help you kids keep …” he starts, before petering off, looking them over, as if the whole thing were suddenly dawning on him. “Well, we’re going to do basic hand to hand, in case you ever need it. Hopefully, you’ll never need it.”  
  
~*~*~*~  
  
      Two months later, Captain Danvers shows up post-mission, all red and gold and blue flashy style. Or, it seems that way, because Col. Rhodes was more into the stealth mode. She teaches them the basics of flying, both with jet boots/packs and with planes. It takes them five long and fun months, but they get the hang of it.  
      A week later, Agent Morse is teaching them the simplicities of undercover work. She teaches them to blend in, to stand out, to do both at the same time. She teaches them how to fly under the radar regardless of how they're dressed, how they look.  
      Cage starts teaching them fighting techniques at the same time Rand starts teaching them how to meditate, how to be calm. Then again, as Eli reminds Rand, it's hard to be calm when you're lost in the middle of nowhere, because that's where you woke up today.  
Rand.  
Rand just smiles and pats the ground before him.  
      Soon, the lessons start to blur together. Breakfast is followed by classes, which are four hours. Those four hours are followed by lunch. Lunch is followed by training with the Teacher of the Day, usually one of the agents or Danvers, if they're on base. A two or three hours training session leads to dinner, and free time.  
  
      They celebrate Thanksgiving sarcastically and send letters. Jess watches as Cage stays on base, cooking a turkey in their personal kitchen. Carol is there, smashing potatoes with an evil grin on her lips. Jess doesn't want to ask. Rand is chiding Cage, waving a wooden spoon at him, cake batter still on his face. Jess also doesn't want to ask. Agent May is sitting there, glancing at the kids, who are watching the Macy's parade, idly chopping things. She has a spot of flour in her hair, but Jess knows it's murder to ask her about it.  
      Christmas involves more presents, but it's the same concept. Except, maybe it's different. May is gone, still on medical leave. Jess wants to ask, sorely wants to ask, but she can't. Cage tells her something about lost agents. Rand reminds her that everyone has a past, and hands her a set of white gloves trimmed with bright, bright, blue.  
  
Soon, it's almost New Year's and they're getting better at this whole ... being kidnapped, being jailors kind of thing.  
  
It's almost 2012 and they're ready to be Project DAYCARE.  
  
Its almost 2012 and Jess has a plan to get them free.  
  



	7. Another May Day ... More Like M'aider

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> April Showers Bring May Flowers.  
> If by flowers, you mean alien invasions in the heart of New York City.  
> That's totally what the saying means.

"If I never see another damn Shawarma place, it will be too soon," Cage scowls as he picks out another piece of the dish off his suit.

Jess looks up, rolls her eyes, and looks back at her tablet, at her reports. There's so many reports. "You're the one who challenged their recently deceased handler's legacy."

"I didn't do anything."

She shrugs, fingers swiping across the tablet. "I filed the incident report. Hill says you're officially their handler until they split."

"If they split," he groans, falling onto the couch. "Where are they now?"

"Penthouse," she replies, not looking up from the camera feed. "They're admiring Dr. Banner's handiwork."

"What'd he do?"

"Smashed a hole into the floor using the trickster god," she says, slightly reverent, before returning to the reports. "You're up if they need transport tonight. They like you."

He glares at her. "I am not their taxi service."

"We are what they need us to be," she says dully, reminding him of their specialized oath to S.H.I.E.L.D.

"How are the kids?" he asks, not out of callousness, but out of care. It still hurts.

Jess' eyes flicker away, her fingers clench the tablet's edge. "They're fine. I asked Carol to keep an eye on them."

"She's got her own mission."

"I know," she says, teeth clenched. "I know that, Cage."

"We're getting them out."

"How?"

He sets a hand over her shoulder. "Two months, remember that, Jones. The kid said two months."

"But then this came up. I can't be handler to two Avengers Initiative teams. It's not possible. You know we resigned from their team, for what? For this team? They don't need a babysitter, they need a liaison. We're not viable liaisons, not with our history." She glares up at him. "Why not Rand? Or Sitwell?"

"Rand is in Madripoor doing surveillence. Sitwell's on another assignment."

"No, he isn't. He's off doing some janitor stuff for Pierce. He may be some higher up's lap dog, but I trust him. Well, I trust Sitwell more than the average agent over there. That's gotta be worth something"

"Hey. We can do this."

She nods, slowly. "We can do this," she repeats.

"Uh, Agent Hot and Agent Not," Stark's voice filters out through the tablet's speakers. "We're going to take a power nap or two. Don't worry about God of Daddy Issues."

"We're not your lackeys, Stark," she reminds him. "We're S.H.I.E.L.D. We'll look after him."

"Yeah, and our last agent got himself killed because of him. J.A.R.V.I.S. will sound the alarm if necessary."

Cage pulls away. "The tower's compromised."

"The tower's fine," Stark retorts. "The penthouse is a little roughed up but livable. You can stand down or whatever."

"I'd like to speak with J.A.R.V.I.S.," she says instead. Cage gives her a look. She shrugs.

"Uh, sure ... I guess ..."

"Agent Jones, you requested me?" the A.I. asks, cutting the line with his creator.

"Is S.H.I.E.L.D. monitoring us right now?"

"Pardon?"

"Please."

A beat. "No, there are no S.H.I.E.L.D. satellites or bugs currently in position. May I ask why?"

"Is Stark listening in?"

"He records, but he will not listen to this until he has gone over this past week's data. Why?"

"I need a favor," she says, looking away. "Three bedroom cabin in Canada, rental, no questions asked."

"I don't understand."

"What?"

"How long are you planning on staying?"

Relief hits her. She can do this. They can do this. "I'm planning my vacation. Got a few days saved up," she babbles. "It's undetermined as of now. Just help me find a place."

"Four possible locations found. Printing," he replies, as the printer spits out detailed sheets of paper.

"Thank you."

"Anything else, Agent Hot?" Stark's voice rings out once more. "Or can we nap?"

"Dismissed," she says, voice wobbling.

This is the start of the end.

 

**_We're getting out._ **

 

~*~*~*~

 

"The timetable's been moved up," Jess says, the first thing she tell Cho. But Cho, he looks at her, eyes shiny with tears. "What?"

He stammers. "I ... It ... We ..."

"What?" she demands. "WHAT IS IT?"

"They took them," he says, half surprise, half resignation. "They took them a few hours ago. As soon as you left. I didn't ... they took them and I don't know where. I was ... Kirby's gone, too."

She pulls him into her arms, grips him tightly.

They were this close.

So damn close.

"I'm sorry."

"Kirby's gone. Index is gone. Project D.A.Y.C.A.R.E. is ... it's all my fault. My fault. It's all my fault."

She pulls away. "Kid, look at me." She waits.

One

Two

Three

"Amadeus!"

His head snaps up.

"It's not your fault. We'll find them. I'm going to rent a few cabins, a few safe houses. You look for your dog. I'll pick him up. We'll find the others."

"Coyote."

She blinks. "What?"

"Kirby's a coyote."

She lets out a mirthless laugh. "Find your coyote. I'll find Danvers. Rand still out?"

"Yeah. Danvers is on aerial support for the president," he adds. "Aliens invading is sort of her thing, since her incident was ... is Black Widow okay?"

"She's fine. Do you ... should I call her? She was your handler before."

"I'm fine."

"Amadeus."

"I said I'm fine. Carol's on the beta encrypted line, because alpha was rerouted for New York only. You can try her there. If not, use her call sign on any secure line. She'll be connected immediately."

"Call sign?"

"Marvel."

"Find your dog," she nods, hands trembling as she punches in her password. Her hands tremble as she thinks of her promise, her last damn words to these kids, before she left this stupid building.

I will be back and then we'll go camping.

Camping.

It was the signal for their plan.

They were going to move up the timetable, if things went ...

She failed them.

 

~*~*~*~

 

"Cassie, you all right?" Eli calls out, shaking off the drugs. He was glad of his metabolism, for once. His hands stretched out before him, the darkness letting hims see nothing, no one. "Cassie?"

"I'm fine," the preteen calls out, softly, slurred. "Where's Jonas?"

"I am here," the boy in question calls out. "I am also fine."

"We're all okay?" Eli asks, disbelief ringing in his tone.

"We're all not in New York anymore."

"Cassie is correct. We are in ..."

"You're in D.C.," a voice booms out through a tinny speaker. "Welcome to the Triskelion."

 

~*~*~*~

 

"Jewel requesting Captain ... Marvel. Jewel requesting Marvel. Come in Marvel."

"Jewel?" Carol snorts. "That's a bit ... much."

"Says Marvel," Jess retorts, falling back into old habits. Old habits, like talking about the kids. The kids. "Marvel, camping is a no go this month. Storms have flooded the campsite. I repeat, camping is no go."

"What?"

"Tell you back at base. We're grounded, Cap."

"For fuck's ... sorry, Mr. Vice President. I just ... I know your daughter's here. I'm sorry, sorry for bringing you along when it wasn't my orders to do so."

"Marvel, I'll see you back in the apple."

"Roger, Jewel. Over and out."

"Please don't do that. Bye."

"Ruin all my fun. Bye."

 

 

"Where are they?" Carol says, not even stopping, throwing her helmet off, her comms into the Hole of Nothingness, as she dubbed their soundproof cabinet. "I left them here," she says, as if she were being tricked, as she yanks off her piloting gloves. "I didn't ..."

"I know."

"Rand ... does he ...?"

"Off-site," she cuts in.

"Rand, Cage, you, me, all of us off-site. Not even that damn agent."

"Coulson's dead."

"What about the boy?"

"He was given a day pass to Oscorp's labs. He was safely out of harm's way."

"The other kids, Midtown Meddlers?"

"Decommissioned," she replies, angrily. "No one was here except our kids' handler."

"And who was that?"

"I don't know. They didn't exactly keep me apprised of my successor. I had to locate the Avengers and confirm Dr. Van Dyne was out of the city."

"Was she?"

"She's in Jersey with her daughter. They were clearing out the last of their labs. I tried hacking into the data that Coulson left, but with his team decomm'd and everything else encrypted by Fury himself ... I can't do anything."

"What about the Pym Particle suit?"

"Jan still won't release it to S.H.I.E.L.D."

"I'm sensing a 'however'."

"She has it in her living will, reserved for Cassie Lang."

"Oh."

"Big 'oh', since she's considered dead."

The blonde shrugs, turning the movement into a longer stretch. "So we get her to release it anyway."

"Carol."

"What?"

"Think about it. Why did she add Cassie into her will, three months ago?"

"Because she was putting her things in order, for her divorce."

"Three months ago, Cassie Lang was dead, had been dead for almost seven months."

"Oh," she says, surprised. "She knows."

"Who told her?"

"Maybe she can track bloodlines," Carol shrugs, before faltering, her bootstraps intertwined between her fingers, as the point hits her. "She can track Cassie."

"Where Cassie is ... the kids are," Jess nods. "We can find them."

"Well, I do have quinjet privileges still," Carol grins up at her.

 

~*~*~*~

 

"Theodore Altman," someone calls out. Teddy turns, trying to find the source. A woman steps into the room, smiling thinly. "My name is Maria Hill. Welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Where's my mom?"

"That is the million dollar question, Mr. Altman. Where _is_ your mother?"

"I know my rights," he lies, glancing at the door, expecting his mother to burst in, to tell him this is a joke. That this is the third degree for all the bad things he's been doing, with Greg and his stupid need to be the center of attention.

Nothing.

"Where is your father, Theodore?"

"I don't ..."

"Where is he?"

"He's dead!"

"Is he?"

Teddy stares at the woman wearing a weird suit, with an eagle patch on the shoulder. "... isn't he?"


	8. Auld Sing Lang

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a New Year's Resolution.

Janet Van Dyne gives Jessica Jones a look of disdain.  
"This, my _life's_ work, is an exact science. there is no guessing. I am highly offended that you even dare to insinuate such a thing as 'incorrect data,' lady. Please go harass some other person."  
      Jess can kind of see hints of former Janet, of her 'friend' Jan. She can see the woman who glared at men who dismissed her readings, who thanked her from running her husband's work to them posthaste. She can see the fire in her eyes and it hurts, a little, to notice how much is gone.

"You think Cassie is alive, even though she was a causality at Puente Antiguo."

Janet Van Dyne gives her an unamused and insulted look. "I'm not a pretty intern. I can track Pym Particles, Miss Jones."

"Agent."

"How proud you must be," she scoffs derisively. "A year or so ago, I found a Pym particle signature. It was of such an extreme concentration that I had no other choice but to conclude it to be my little assistant. She's alive, isn't she?"

Jess goes for broke. "Yes. She's alive."

If anything, Janet looks surprised to be told the truth. "I see. What is it that you need, exactly?"

"Can you track her?"

"Not anymore," she shrugs, packing up files. "I disarmed the machine I used as a rudimentary tracker and relocated all of its parts to various off-site labs. I also don't do free consultations. I'm not Stark. I can't afford it now. The Pym-Van Dyne Labs dream is over."

"I need the algorithm. I can do without the self-pity."

"It's not self-pity," she says tiredly. "It's anger. I was almost killed to make the suit. My ex-husband is off doing God knows what. My daughter left me and lives with _him._ My good friend Scott Lang is dead. His daughter was taken from us by some government office no one's heard of, for reasons unknown. On top of that, you lost her. _You_ ," she hisses. "I trusted you. So forgive me if I'm a bit ... angry."

"Understood," Jess nods. "But I need ..."

She slams a file on the desk, inches from Jess. "This is all I have left on the Pym Particles, thanks to your agency. From that, I made a small, practically kindergarten-level tracker. If your guy's as good as you say, he'll do fine with it."

"Thank you."

"Thank me when you find her."

"I'm sorry, for what it's worth."

Jan sighs and looks up. "I'm sorry, too. He was a good man."

Jess looks away. "He wasn't mine."

"No, he was Cassie's father, first and only."

"Yeah," Jess sighs, gripping the file tightly. "I was second fiddle to that girl."

"You deserved it," she says, not unkindly. "You put him second to your work."

"To my life, Dr. Van Dyne."

Jan shrugs again, "Maybe it is time for us to consider new careers, new lives. I was thinking fashion. I was always good at that in college."

"So bio chem was a fallback?" Jess jokes. "How'd that happen?"

"I fell in love with a boy, my father's assistant. I followed their tracks and wound up here."  
 _Here_ amounts to a rundown lab, where agents had come years ago, intent on confiscating her life's work, where her assistants bickered cheerfully, where they shouted and waved angrily, trying to take back their files, their equipment. Here is where her husband proposed with candles and roses and bio-luminescent bugs, where he absentmindedly signed the divorce papers, where her daughter grew up, where she left her mother.  
It looks nothing like it did, back when Jess first came here, bright and full of life.

It looks like an abandoned shrine. To their life, to their science.

Jess doesn't know what to say.

Except, maybe, it's a little self-pity.

 

~*~*~*~

 

"Miss Bishop, welcome to S.H.I.E.L.D."

The brunette stares at them, coolly watching as they enter, her feet propped up on the steel table. "Not interested. You know who would be, though? My daddy's lawyers, all of the reporters," she continues, glaring at Hill. "Can I go now?"

"Your father gave his permission for you to stay here." That gets her attention. Her dark eyes narrow and the tension in her body intensifies."Miss Bishop, you will cooperate."

"Or what? You'll shoot me?"

"We will reconsider returning your bow."

Her face quickly twists into one of remorse. Maria is impressed. "You're right. I should behave. I'm sorry."

"No, you're not."

Back is her cool demeanor, her laissez-faire attitude. She shrugs. "You're right, I'm not. Where is it?"

"Safe, for now. You need to answer a few questions first."

Her lip curls into a sneer. "Fine."

 

~*~*~*~

 

Jess stares at the blonde before her. "Carol, are you serious?"

"What?"

"You requested a transfer to London," says Danny, faintly amused. "Why would you go to London?"

"I like it there. It's nice this time of the year."

"It's November, Carol," Cage points out, looking as if he feared for her sanity.

"We've almost found the kids," Jess adds. "We're _this_ close."

"Jess, we're always ' _this_ ' close. I called in a few favors and got a whisper of a rumor about there being a few unexplained events going on. I want to investigate. Low pro, obviously," she smirks.

"Obviously," Danny hums, watching her. "A low profile does not exactly fit within your history, Carol."

"If you're worried about me jeopardizing our hunt for those kids, you're wrong."

"I'm not worried about that," Danny shrugs.

" _I'm_ worried about that," Cage cuts in.

"Worried about you," Carol hears Jess sigh. "But if you want to go, you know what's best."

"I'll be back, hopefully with better intel."

~*~*~*~

"Talk to me," Jess barks into her phone, trying to keep the steering wheel from veering too far, the device clutched in the hold between her chin and shoulder.

"I found an anomaly," Cho says, breathless. "I was checking his files. The T.A.H.I.T.I. ones were especially ..."

"Point, Cho," she cuts in, as she cuts off a red sedan. "What's the point?"

"I know how to program the kill switch on D.A.Y.C.A.R.E. and all other projects. We can find them and we can go home."

 _Home.  
_

Jess likes the sound of that.

"Is this line secure?"

"Hacked it, it thinks we're talking plans for the holidays."

"You're going to the New Year's Party?"

"I'm thinking of staying in, I have to do something first."

"Well, if you go, swing by and say hi."

  
~*~*~*~

"Carol!" Jess calls out, watching as the blonde glides down, shiny red boots on her feet, courtesy of a higher-up gifting her the damn things for their Secret Santa. She pauses inches above the floor, hair curled and parted to the side, her tracker tugging some hair away from her face.

"Jess," she replies in kind. "I like the dress," she smirks, nodding towards Jess' silver and electric blue dress.

Jess beams. "I like it, too. Hey, you're not wearing heels."

"Boots," she says, pursing her mouth. "Also, my date ... they're shorter than me."

"You sound shallow," Jess jokes.

"I am shallow," Carol grins. "I don't try to hide it."

"You're not shallow."

"You never know," Carol huffs, before finally landing. "You'll see me up there at midnight, kissing my date."

"I don't want to look up and see you playing tonsil hockey."

"Hey! I'm playing tonsil hockey while flying, it's going to be great."

Jess laughs and Carol gets called away by some blonde, which leaves Jess alone, again.

"Jess," Carol says, winding back to her around 11, her dark red lipstick reapplied. "Don't you ever ... feel like ... we could be out there?"

"On the dance floor?" Jess asks, watching the agents below dance horribly. It's getting late, or early, and the bar was open. She can forgive them.

"No," Carol huffs, nodding towards the skylight. "I meant ... out _there_ ," she emphasizes. "I was ... I saw a jet a few months ago, when I was doing patrol.. I don't know. I've always wanted to travel, travel space."  
"What brought this on?"

"It's the end of the year, another year and I've done nothing."

"We're here."

"I know. We're here and we can't leave."

"Carol, we're ..."

"We're working on it, I know. But, Jess," she sighs. "We could do so much better."

"You're not human," Jess blurts out.

"What?"

"The thing ... the fight with that alien ... with those aliens," she amends. "They ... and the capture ... it made you a hybrid. You're half ... whatever they were."

"You ... what?"

"I asked Dr. Ross to look into it, when she first came over to help us create a science curriculum for the kids, back when we had them."

"Go back to the part where I've been an _alien_ ," Carol hisses, her good mood gone. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was worried you'd react like this. I don't know why I'm here, Carol. But you ... we can't let you ... I haven't left base in case they take you like they did the kids."

"Cage has super soldier serum in his veins," Carol retorts, spits it out acidly. "He's never going to leave here."

Jess blinks at her, surprised. "I ..."

"So if you like him, you'll have to stay. You'll stay grounded, like us."

It's both a warning and a plea.  
 _Don't ruin your life and stay here.  
I hate you, stay and suffer with us.  
_  


"Carol," she starts, before Carol stalks off and disappears in the lower level crowds.

Jess, she watches her leave.

      The clock is counting down. The junior agents, but not her kids, are all huddled away from the drinks, Cage watching them alongside Danny. They've done it. They've evolved from being the baby agents to chaperoning the baby agents. Carol is off kissing some guy or the other. Actually, the blonde had mentioned an agent, but not the agent's gender. Jess was about to ask, when ... before they fought. She waves off that thought in favor of watching the dorky looking Korean American teen try to reach her, amid the crowd of slightly cheery and mostly drunk agents.

"TEN!"

"Agent Jones," he beams, rocking on his heels. The boy is wearing sneakers, a navy blue sweater, with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo (Honestly, what is up with that? Jess wonders) and a festive looking 2014 hat.

"Cho," she nods, stiffly, thinking, are we being watched?

"I wanted you to know, I'm sorry about ..."

"I know," she cuts in. She doesn't want to talk about it. Not again in the same damn night, she thinks.

"FIVE!"

"So I wanted to apologize."

She blinks as he extends his hand. Out of habit, she takes the offered thing.

A thumb drive.

"ONE!"

"Happy New Year," he mouths, as the cheers grow. "Home," he mouths, and that's all she sees, because she's crushing him to her.

They're going home.

**_Home._ **

**__**

She _had_ to tell Carol.

 

God, Carol.

Carol waves at her, her mood returning, as she waves down at them from her spot in the middle of the skylight, illuminated by the city's fireworks and the full moon.


End file.
